


Stable Relationships

by RussianWitch



Category: Man of Steel (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bondage, Dom/sub Undertones, Don't copy to another site, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Krypton Survives, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Spanking, не копировать
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 17:11:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18899032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: Being betrothed to the heir of the House of El means gaining a lot of political advantages, it also means gaining a fiance who doesn't know how to follow the rules much to General Zod's eternal annoyance.





	Stable Relationships

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Holdt for beta reading, any leftover mistakes are mine because I keep tinkering.

The call comes in the middle of a meeting.

He bites back curses, jabbing at his com-unit until the reedy beeping stops and fakes apologetic attention to whatever the geriatric fool of a regional commander is saying, while mentally starting a count.

Faora's eyebrow and the corner of her mouth twitch, and not for the first time, he regrets diversity demands soldiers do not mate among themselves.

Two hours later, he barely keeps from kicking the door down on his way out of the room. Out in the hall, he pulls up the last communication. The grimacing, guilty looking face of his betrothed's bodyguard appears on the screen.

"What is it?" he snaps, already calculating how many soldiers he can gather on his way to his transport.

"He's—we lost him, sir," the soldier admits.

Dru has to count to ten slowly and precisely to give the rage that chokes him time to ebb.

"Where?" he says, seeing Faora activate her com unit out of the corner of his eye, probably rescheduling his appointments for the rest of the day and calling in troops.

"The Horizon of Diligence Lodge, sir. He was ordered there to concentrate on his studies," the soldier says. "We secured the estate. He has not left the premises. He could not have as all the vehicles are accounted for."

The name of the estate is familiar, some El absurdity no doubt. More space for hubris the bloodline is famous for, along with its great scientific minds.

"I will be there in fifteen minutes," Dru says.

Around him, bureaucrats swarm, tugging at his sleeve, having their robots block his way. Unfortunately, he doesn't have to shoot anyone; Faora raising a gun is enough for a deterrent.

She's a ghost at his side until the door of his transport has closed behind them.

"Your schedule has been cleared. The Minister isn't happy, but when is he?" She shrugs, handing him a tablet to sign with the new dates for approval.

He hates them, but then he hated the previous ones too. If only someone would realize that if they just stopped talking and gave him the authority to get things done…

"Will you be calling Jor-El, General?" Faora says, but Dru is pretty sure she already knows the answer.

"No," he says. "I will not." Because that would mean dealing with the infuriating man when Dru can resolve the situation without the additional headache.

"Take the transport," he orders when they land, taking his field boots out of the trunk. “And head back to headquarters. I will call for a vehicle once I'm done."

He doesn't bother going to the main house— Kal isn't there, after all. Half way there, he's remembered what the Els use that particular estate for, and field boots are definitely going to come in handy.

The grounds are overgrown, deliberately left to run wild with vegetation in some attempt at artistry or cleverness. Dru itches to put a torch to all of it, straighten out the winding paths and bring order to the whole mess.

The stables are hidden at the back of the estate among the cliffs and shrubbery, carved into the rock wall where eons ago the ancestors of the creatures the Els have tamed used to build nests, wind chimes dance on the breeze.

A buzzing drowns out the delicate tinkling of the shells and crystals, accompanied by a whoop of laughter as something zips by, almost crashing into the wall above Dru's head.

"Rao's balls!" Dru curses, breaking into a run.

Scaling the rock wall, Dru catches sight of his wayward betrothed making a loop in the air, cackling madly.

He works his way up the  cliff wall, keeping to the shadows until he's close enough to be heard. Swinging himself up onto a ledge, he whistles loudly to get the suicidal idiot's attention.

"Kal!" he thunders, cursing when the idiot startles and almost falls out of the saddle.

"General!" Kal greets, recovering, steering his beast to circle Dru lazily. "I wasn't expecting you." He smiles charmingly, wind-tossed curls falling in his eyes.

"Surprising, considering you left your guard detail, who reports directly to me," Dru points out, calculating the force that would be needed for him to jump onto the beast behind the boy.

"I'm honored, General." The boy bats his eyelashes, and Dru clenches his teeth.

"I am taking you back to Jor-El's compound," he decides. "Where you will stay until you learn to respect your guards. They are there for a reason!"

The boy's mouth twists into a scowl, and the beast he's riding bucks, bearing its teeth in Dru's direction.

"You'll have to catch me first!" he yells, pulling on the reins just as Dru jumps, pushing against gravity to reach for the boy.

Two sets of powerful wings beat the air, speed up, and the beast along with Kal shoots up into the fuchsia sky, his laughter carried away on the wind along with Dru's curses as he's forced to give chase.

Adjusting his control, jets firing as he leaps, Dru swoops up to follow his soon-to-be mate into the clouds.

It's been a while since he's had a proper hunt, Dru thinks, the wind in his face making it difficult to breathe as he chases Kal all across the estate, the gale whistling in his ears at every turn. The hunt is what he was created for: taking down prey no matter where it runs, no matter how fast. Nothing can stop him— not gravity, not nature, not El's famous wits.

Just as Dru makes a push to catch up with him, Kal dives into a nearby grove of trees, disappearing from sight.

For a civilian, the boy has good instincts. Curious, for someone not designed for the warrior's guild. Dru is almost tempted to talk to Jor-El about allowing the boy to be tested if only to see the horrified expression on the man's face.

He's enjoying himself, Dru realizes, twisting to avoid a collision with a tree, then speeding up to cut Kal off before he manages to get out of the canyon.

Slowly but steadily, he drives the boy back towards the stables, deeper among the cliffs where the maneuverability of Kal's mount is limited by its size until finally, Kal has nowhere to go. The beast lands on an outcrop, hissing and snarling at Dru who snarls right back until it subsides into a submissive sulk.

He doesn't wait for Kal to dismount but plucks him out of the saddle.

"You're not even wearing any padding!" Dru hisses, slamming the boy into the rock. "What if you fell and broke your fool neck? What would your father do, then?"

Kal's blushing, his eyes bright with defiance, "I've been riding H'Raka since I was a toddler!" he snarls, bearing his teeth in affront, and Dru feels his self-control crumble.

"Kal!" he snaps, watching the boy's tongue as it darts out to wet chapped lips. As Kal gears up to argue, his leg hooks over Dru's hip—whatever words Kal intended, they turn into moans as Dru takes his mouth, captures the insolent, argumentative tongue between his teeth.

Kal whimpers at the sting, making it worse by trying to pull away, but yields at once when Dru changes his grip, running his hands down Kal's flanks to cup the boy's ass.

Long legs wrap around his waist as soon as Dru hoists Kal up, and lock behind his back, pulling him closer into an obscene violation of propriety.

The boy tastes of the wind and the brilliant yellow berries that grow on the highest cliffs, he tastes of danger and heresy—a show of rebellion that should have subsided long before puberty.

Dru feels like he's suffocating, like he's drowning. His blood boils as he grinds the boy into the rock wall, needing more of the taste, the scent, the feel of his betrothed's body against him.

Kal whines and arches into him, his fingers digging into the nape of Dru's neck, clawing at him like a feral thing.

It takes every bit of strength he has to wrench himself away, and drop the boy onto the dusty stones. He considers tossing himself off the outcrop to let the cool canyon air take the fever from his loins and mind.

"Dru!" the insolent creature moans, getting to his knees, intent on crawling after Dru.

The shock of hearing his name on the boy's lips cools his ardor, returns him enough self-control that he can twist away when Kal reaches for his boot.

"Get up— I'm taking you back to your father." To demand the preparations for the Union be expedited.

"Why?" Kal demands, still on his knees, his tunic rumpled beyond repair.

Dru can't remember ripping the fastenings open, but he can see the boy's collarbones and the hint of the pelt that will cover the boy's chest once he's fully grown.

"Because it isn't proper, boy!" Dru lectures himself as much as the boy. "You weren't raised in a cave! Act your station!"

With a huff, Kal gets up dusting himself off and straightening his clothing, the feral, sensual creature turning into the proper little prince of the El clan.

"General." Kal gives him a cool smile.

The transformation does nothing for the tightness in Dru's trousers.

Fortunately, the armor plating on his trousers hides his sins as he watches Kal's ass when the boy mounts his beast.

They fly back to the stable side by side.

Dru wonders if this is what the Union feels like.

His body throbs with adrenaline, his senses feel sharper, all of them locked onto Kal, who throws his head back and laughs as a flock of birds overtakes them.

The stable is already wrapped in shadows, the cliffs looming over it deep purple, glowing in the setting sun.

They work together to get the tack off the beast, feeding and tending it despite the estate having servants to do such things. Their hands occasionally meeting as they work keeps Dru at a simmer.

"Go take care of the tack," he orders when he can no longer stand Kal's proximity.

Sending the boy into the tack-room doesn't help.

Dru can still smell him over the beasts and the muck.

The beast huffs and nudges his shoulder and Dru glares at it half-heartedly.

It seems like the world is conspiring against him.

In the tack room, the boy is bent over the saddle, fiddling with a stirrup in a most impractical way, trousers straining over Kal's round ass drawing the eye and tempting the hand.

Kal wiggles his ass and Dru throws propriety out of the window.

With an animalistic groan, he falls on the boy like he's starving and Kal is the first meal he's seen in an age. Kal's leggings tear like paper, Dru's nails dig into soft skin and leave red welts as he gropes the toned mounts to the boy's delighted groans.

"You are a trial," Dru groans, blanketing the boy with his body, unsurprised to feel Kal arch into him, grinding that maddening ass into Dru's crotch. "A heretic like your father!" He catches Kal's hands and twists them onto the boy's back. "A nuisance who insists on wasting my time!"

Kal bucks and whines, Dru's name falls from his lips over and over again until Dru's hand connects with his ass with a resounding slap.

"Be silent if you cannot be respectful, boy!" Dru hisses against the nape of Kal's neck.

He wants to sink his teeth into the delicate skin there, mark the boy as his for all to see—the thing he cannot do until the Union, until they stand before Rao and the Arbiters and do things properly.

"As you wish, General," Kal pants insolently, and Dru needs to do something about that.

He reaches for the closest set of reins, rips them from their hook and binds Kal's hands high on his back, looping the narrow strip of leather around the boy's throat to keep him from trying to pull on his restraints.

Shockingly blue eyes peek at him from over Kal's shoulder, but the boy no longer dares to move. Balancing precariously on his toes, Kal is no longer capable of catching himself if he slides off the saddle head first, possibly choking himself as he goes and that clearly terrifies him.

It is a beautiful sight: Kal's ass at just the right height to take additional punishment, his leg muscles standing out as he strains to hold his position.

The boy's breathing turns panicky, and Dru presses a hand between Kal's shoulder blades to steady and calm him. Plucking away the last shreds of Kal's leggings, Dru gives into the urge to lecture as he runs his hand over tender skin.

"This is the tenth time your antics have called me away from my duties! Your childish behavior may have been ignored by your progenitors, but I shall not tolerate it any longer!" His hand leaves a very satisfying imprint on Kal's ass, deep pink against tanned skin, clearly outlined along the fleshy curve.

"No!" Kal howls trying to kick and almost overbalancing. Only Dru's hand on his back saving him from disaster. "Please! I just wanted—" Dru spanks him again, gifting Kal with a matching handprint on his other asscheek.

"Wants are for peasants, Kal. You have a Duty that must come above all else!" Dru reminds him, feeling like a hypocrite with his cock still straining against his underwear.

He sets a steady pace, working diligently to make sure Kal's ass turns an even red as the boy's whines turn into moans.

"You're doing well," he finds himself saying, clamping a hand on Kal's neck in comfort. "Taking your punishment like a soldier," as he delivers a fresh barrage of slaps on the sensitive seam of ass and thigh.

He keeps the spanking up until the boy lies pliant, sobbing wetly with every blow, every inch of his ass a deep, hot crimson that will stay with Kal for a while, making sitting down an interesting endeavor. Almost imperceptible shudders run through Kal's body as Dru's hands caress overheated skin between blows, an additional reward for the boy's compliance.

A feral, possessive sense of satisfaction burns in Dru's gut, a sense of victory in having conquered something that has never known a proper rein.

He spreads the bright red cheeks on impulse and the contrast between the punished skin and the paleness of the furrow that hides the delicate rose of the orifice it protects takes his breath away.

Dru isn't a novice to the pleasures of the flesh, but there is something about the boy, about the knowledge that Kal is his, has been carefully preserved solely for Dru's pleasure—the reason he should unbind the boy and send him back to his father.

"General, please, it hurts," Kal moans, pretty blue eyes wet with tears.

Knowing the Els, Dru's hand must be the first taste of corporal punishment, a far harsher acquaintance than Kal might have gotten with someone else. Regret crashes into Dru, worry that almost manages to finally smother his arousal as he drops to his knees to examine the boy from up close. He's sure not to have done any permanent damage, or would be disciplining a soldier from the guild, one whose body was engineered to take far harsher use.

_Something isn't_ _right_ , Dru thinks as Kal wiggles restlessly, hissing when he feels Dru's soothing breath on his sore ass. _Almost like he's_ —taking hold of Kal's knees, he wrenches them apart.

Dru leaves the boy balancing precariously on his belly as he takes in the sight he couldn't see while standing.

The boy's balls are drawn up and behind them, tangled in the remainder of the leggings, crushed awkwardly against the saddle, the boy's cock strains fat and flushed with lust.

"I'm sorry," Kal sobs.

Dru doesn't believe him, not watching his cock throb and spill pre-come, especially not when Kal moans like a whore when Dru cups his balls, the delicate skin hot to the touch, the sack heavy in the palm of his hand.

This isn't right, Dru thinks, not Kal's response to the punishment, or Dru's own body throbbing with twisted lust in answer.

He hauls the boy off the saddle, wrenches him around and looks up at the tearstained face.

Kal's lips are swollen obscenely, bitten raw during his punishment, his cheeks and throat painted with a feverish flush, his eyes wet with tears but shining with unholy lust.

Dru watches him pull at his bonds, the dark brown leather digging into sensitive skin just below the Adam's apple as the boy chokes himself, his cock twitching, clearly visible through the now transparent material of the tunic that should hide it.

"You're not!" Dru accuses. ' _ I suspect you never will be' _ he doesn't add.

He gets the tunic and the remainders of the leggings out of the way, biting back a moan at the sight of Kal's cock slapping wetly against his abdomen once freed, standing to sway in a defiant curve in front of Dru's face.

"If you choke yourself, I'll leave you like this!" he threatens absentmindedly when Kal pulls on his bonds again—

Too distracted by the pattern of veins showing through the skin of Kal's cock to deal with the rebelliousness properly. Dark rose lines the same tint as the head, proudly exposed to the elements and Dru's scrutiny, they run along the length of Kal's cock, inviting exploration with hands and tongue until every inch of them is charted—and Dru has all of them memorized.

_ No one will have this but me _ , Dru thinks, running a sharp nail along the underside of Kal's cock just to hear the boy's breath stutter. He doesn't allow himself the pleasure of taste, not yet, not with the number of rules he—they are breaking in the foreground of his mind.

Dru sets his mouth on the sharp wing of a hipbone instead, scrapes his teeth along the protruding edge, drags his parted lips along the crease of leg and torso taking in the scent there, burying his nose in the matted curls that surround the boy's cock.

"Dru—General—please, please I—" Kal gasps.

"You cannot follow even the simplest order," Dru sighs. "Do you expect me to reward you for it?" He caresses Kal's legs, enjoying the feeling of rangy muscles and dense hair under his hand.  Fed up with fighting his baser urges, he runs his hands up to cup Kal's ass, the whine of distress Kal utters music to his ears.

"I promise I'll do better," Kal offers once he has breath again to speak.

Dru grunts his disbelief, torn by conflicting desires.

Rising to his feet, he looms over the boy. Wrapping his hands around the slender neck to keep Kal from moving as Dru looks his fill, he wonders if Kal realizes that this moment—in the back of a stable, on his knees before a teen, General Zod surrendered for the first time in his life.

He pulls his knife, reveling in the fear in Kal's eyes for an instant before skillfully cutting away the noose around the boy's throat.

"Your promise, I suspect, is worth as much as the dust on which we stand." Dru sighs to himself, licking along the imprint of the noose on Kal's skin until the boy arches into him.

Kal opens his mouth to protest, but Dru kisses him, robs him of words before he can utter them, kisses Kal until they are both out of breath and the boy is hanging in his arms weak with desire.

It's easy to prop him up against the saddle again, crimson ass on display.

Dru claws his trousers open, his cock aching in a way he can barely remember from youthful frenzy. He wants to bury himself in the boy's body, rut like an animal until he spills, until Kal is hoarse from calling him name and Dru's mark is deep inside Kal's body—until they are both dishonored.

"Please, General! I need you!" Kal moans, hollowing his back and raising his ass, pushing into the pain when Dru gropes abused flesh, spreading Kal's cheeks again to look at the opening he wants to breach—

But he doesn't want to hurt the boy, and they have nothing to ease the way.

"Rao's balls!" He covers the boy's body with his own, his cock tantalizingly, torturously close to where it wants to be, slotting between asscheeks that radiate heat still, biting back a groan at being so close and yet impossibly far.

"No! Inside me!" Kal demands, earning himself Dru's teeth in the lobe of his ear.

"This is all you're getting until the Union!" Dru groans, fucking himself between the boy's cheeks until they are both shaking with need.

"Close your legs," he orders, cursing when hairy thighs close around him, giving him the friction he needs.

"Touch me!" Kal demands. Dru is tempted to ignore him once again, but the boy's thighs tighten around him.

Dru gives in with a curse, curling himself around the boy's body.

They both gasp as Dru's hand closes around Kal's cock. He's too rough, he knows it, stripping the boy's cock with short, sharp jerks. Fucking between his thighs, mouthing at Kal's neck as they both chase release.

Lust drowns out all propriety and order, leaves Dru an animal grunting and growling as he takes his mate.

Kal screams his name fucking into Dru's fist, spilling himself onto Dru's fingers, slumping against the saddle like a wet rag.

Dru takes himself in hand, Kal's come easing the glide of his cock in his fist as he admires his mark on the boy's body. He stripes Kal's ass with his come, feeling like he's taken flight, like he's falling off a cliff as he massages his scent into Kal's skin.

"If you want this again," he finds himself saying. "You shall conduct yourself as a dutiful Kryptonian should." He turns the boy to catch his mouth in another kiss, untying Kal's arms, gasping when they are wrapped around him at once, pulling him close.

_ It feels good to have him in my arms _ , Dru muses, lethargy and contentment making rational thought difficult. He runs his hands along the slender body idly, trying to straighten the destroyed tunic.

"Father says negotiations may take several more months than previously foreseen," Kal sighs petulantly. "If you expect me to behave, then I demand a portion of your time. I refuse to wed a stranger!" He pulls on his tunic as he talks, getting it even more tangled before taking it off with a huff.

Dru drinks in the sight— ignoring the demands— the firm chest covered in a smattering of dark curls, the toned abdomen marred by a strange scar made by no weapon Dru knows of, an indentation in the flesh that should not be there.

"General!" Kal demands and Dru gives up on trying to remember the significance of it for the moment.

"My time is rarely my own, boy," he snaps, thinking at all the appointments that have been shuffled around. "If you have a taste for bureaucratic drivel, you can join me in the very early mornings in my offices at the warrior guild compound. I could always use another clerk to rid me of paperwork."

He puts his hand on the boy's abdomen tracing the scar there with a finger, the curious soft, sensitive edges of it until Kal squirms and pushes his hand away.

"I look forward to assisting you." His smile shows too many teeth.

The Els, Dru thinks, mad the lot of them. If it wasn't the only way to breed genius…

"Don't be late! If you survive the morning—" He can't believe he's doing this. "We shall take the midday meal in private." His body gives an optimistic twitch, despite the sense of danger suddenly stirring in his mind.

"I shall endeavor to please." Kal bows and Dru wonders just how badly he's miscalculated.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Union](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22002532) by [RussianWitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch)




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